We are here in Jaisalmer about to observe my 60th birthday and a splendid setting it is for it too. Oh so beautiful, beyond words and the power of photographs to convey.
We were wandering about outside the walls, looking for a cup of masala chai when a procession of legendary figures strutted past. First, the three wise men wandered by, following their star.
Then, blow us both down with a hand held fan, as happy Jaisalmeris looked on,
Who should scoot past but Old Father Time himself.
He was deceptively quick for one so venerable. We tried to intercept him so we could tackle him, bring him to the ground, sit on his head and stop him for a little while but, (as any of you with any years under your expanding belts know), he moves like the wind.
He appears, evanescences and shimmers, grins and grimaces and twinkles, then disappears and is only ever after glimpsed in the shadows in your mirror, snickering at the old man who appears to have stolen your pyjamas.